Tainted Legacy
by Lithius Osmius
Summary: How do you know one's humanity? Where does 'man' end and 'monster' begin? When a little girl already far more like a Claymore than Rubel even believed was possible, walks up and demands to become one, it will become a question many will come to ask.
1. Prologue to a Guilty Sky

_**Prologue to a Guilty Sky**_

Rubel blinked behind his shaded glasses as he noticed the presence coming towards him. A little girl was walking up with what Rubel could only describe as purpose, Teresa's severed head cradled gently in her arms. It was an incongruous enough sight to warrant a second blink, followed by a slightly raised eyebrow.

Now there was something you didn't see every day.

But as much of an peculiarity as the severed head was, Rubel found his attention quickly shifting to the little girl herself. Just by looking at her, Rubel already knew without a doubt that this one was… unique. No more than eight or nine years of age, she just seemed to that that "feel" about her.

Maybe it was her platinum-blonde, almost white hair. Maybe it was the eyes, hazel at the outermost edges, and shading to bright gold at the centers. But whatever it was, this one was obviously different from any other girl Rubel had ever seen.

Suddenly Rubel could feel the beginnings of a stress headache forming behind his eyes. If the Organization handler and deep-cover spy didn't know any better, he might have sworn he was looking at a miniature warrior.

Then the girl did something Rubel would have never expected. She held out Teresa's head, offering it to him as she said plainly:

"Make me like Mommy."

Oh… _Oh!_ Well, _that_ certainly didn't bode well for Rubel's headache; he staunchly resisted the urge to grip the bridge of his nose. Even just the implications of a girl actually calling Teresa of the Faint Smile 'Mommy' did not sound good. Suddenly, Rubel found himself not liking the startling looks of this girl. The resemblance now was really just too uncanny for his tastes.

But then he remembered: most warriors were supposed to be sterile. Not deliberately, but the process by which the Organization implanted Yōma flesh into their trainees' bodies almost invariably caused such damage to their reproductive systems that they were rendered all but infertile as a result. And even if they were not, the scarring from such operations, combined with the "Claymores'" fearsome and monstrous reputation, meant no one would ever be willing to begin a relationship with them, anyway.

That chain of thought calmed Rubel somewhat, but only slightly. This girl's looks were still far too uncanny. If the Organization could have produced a perfect weapon from such an angle, they would've done so a long time ago. It simply wasn't possible.

Perhaps this girl's name for Teresa was simply a childish endearment. That would make much more sense. At least, that was what Rubel hoped – white-blonde hair and those eyes, what those looks could mean were beginning to scare even him.

But still… Could that possibly explain why Teresa had always been so irritable and bad-tempered every month? A Claymore on her period, that was… well… Shit. That explained a whole lot, actually. No wonder she'd always been such a handful for her various handlers!

Rubel surreptitiously fingered the knife hidden in his clothing. As a man in his particular position, it truly wouldn't do to let the Organization get a hold of this girl. For one of the few times in his servitude to the Organization, Rubel allowed himself to frown. He didn't like what he was about to do, but sadly, for the sake of his own country, this girl had to die.

But even as he readied himself to do what needed to be done, he happened to lock gazes with her. Staring into those green-gold orbs, he saw something there. Something he liked. Something that he rarely saw in the eyes of other warriors he had met.

Endless drive, and the determination to do whatever she had to, to reach her goals. Rubel didn't know what those goals were just yet, but he could tell this girl had what it took to reach them.

Slowly, he pried his fingers away from the knife as a faint smile tweaked the corners of his mouth.

Well, this was certainly interesting. Maybe he could have a use for this little one… True, it would obviously be an all-or-nothing gambit with absolutely no guarantee that his hand would the best, but something about this girl told him that she could very well be the trump card he needed to finally put an end to the Organization once and for all. Rubel knew this was nothing more than a gut-feeling, but as a man living in the very heart of his enemies' camp, he knew well enough to trust in his gut. This gamble, he was going to take.

"What's your name, little one?" he asked gently, bending down on his knees to stand eye-to-eye with the girl.

"Clare," she answered, sight not wavering.

Rubel's smile widened ever so slightly. Teresa and Clare, after the twin goddesses of love. How ironic. How perfect. "Alright. But first, I'm afraid I'm going to need you to take these pills…"

_**Author's Note: **_With writing so much Naruto, I thought a changeup was long overdue. Several story ideas involving various anime and manga went through my mind; among those choices were Code Geass, Fullmetal Alchemist, D. Gray-Man, Soul Eater, Gundam SEED, and Gundam 00 (I was _really_ leaning towards Gundam 00). But I've wanted to do a Claymore fic for a very long time, long before I published a good deal of my stories.

The ideas for this story ranged from crossovers with Devil May Cry or Soul Caliber, and a list of ideas that changed the story from the start. But I ended up with this idea, and I'm curious to see where this one goes.

For those of you fervently awaiting an update to the next chapter of Shattered Eyes or Nevermore, be happy and know that there will be a simultaneous update. And the chapters after that are also completed and being beta-read. But please be patient; I'm swamped, my beta-reader is swamped. Life outside of fan-fiction exists and it is unfortunate for me to say that my time is going to work and school, among other things. At least once I get my book published, you can enjoy writings of mine outside of fan-fiction.

Alright, as I traditionally say: make sure your hands and feet stay inside the ride at all times and do enjoy!


	2. Iron Resolve

_"Make me like Mommy."_

Clare's life had forever changed that day. On that day, when everything and everyone important to her had been taken away from her, she had walked willingly up to one of the Organization's agents and volunteered to become a warrior. That was the first, and only, time it had ever happened in the Organization's long history, a child willingly choosing to become a "Claymore".

…A child who already needed no help on their part to become part Yōma.

Because she already was.

* * *

Clare crashed hard to the ground as the blunted claymore struck her on the temple. She landed with a thud, face in the dirt and her vision swimming with pain. The pain seemed to be worst at her right shoulder; she must have dislocated it in the fall, as she couldn't feel her hand and arm beyond it.

"…Or maybe it's _because_ they used a Warrior's flesh that she's so weak," her opponent was saying, dimly. "She's not half Yōma – more like a quarter. Her strength and endurance are only half of ours." The short-haired girl sneered, "'Special'? More like half-assed!"

Setting her face against the shooting pain, Clare rose, her arm trailing the motion limply. She didn't bother to correct the other girl's misconception; Clare already knew the truth. Let them think whatever they would.

"Are you okay? Your right arm is dislocated, want me to put it back in?" someone else offered. Clare didn't know her name, didn't know any of their names. It wasn't important.

Clare merely shook her head lightly as she moved to a nearby wall. Taking her lifeless arm in her other hand, to everyone's surprise, she rammed herself suddenly shoulder-first into the wall, popping the joint back into place with a loud and violent wrench. The other trainees were shocked and even somewhat awed by the display; Clare had not uttered a single sound.

"Thank you, but no," Clare answered simply as she flexed her hand, testing it to ensure the feeling and control had returned. "I don't need any help for that." Then she bent down to pick back up her sword, and stood ready to fight again.

The other, meanwhile, hadn't bothered to lift her own sword from where it was leaning across her shoulder as she scoffed. "You serious? You're just gonna end up gettin' killed."

Nevertheless, she made to ready her own sword – if the little weakling wanted to get creamed, that was fine with her. Besides, Clare's look was really starting to piss her off, anyway – when she was interrupted by a man's voice.

"I don't recall giving you permission to use a claymore." The warrior-trainees all turned, surprised to see Rubel standing there calmly. "Training is over for the day. Everybody out. This isn't a playground," he ordered firmly. The large number of trainees filed out quickly, as if they themselves had been caught disobeying instructions.

The pugnacious warrior passed Clare with a quiet sneer, but the stoic young woman didn't even bother to acknowledge her, simply continuing to stare forward. Her sword-arm did not lower; she hadn't even moved from her earlier pose.

Rubel sighed quietly to himself. Who knew what was going on in that girl's head? "You, hurry up and hand it over. It must be heavy for _you_, of all people," he instructed, taking the weapon from her hand. Even as he turned to leave, Clare still was unmoving, staring ahead as if lost in thought.

"Regrets, Clare?" he wondered aloud. "We could have just as easily used a Yōma's flesh, you know." _It probably would have been better for all parties if we had,_ he most distinctly _didn't_ say. Using a warrior's flesh instead of a Yōma's… It had raised all kinds of questions. Questions that Rubel would have preferred to remain as unanswered as possible.

So far he had managed to successfully divert attention away from Clare's lineage. Orphans were hardly rare upon the continent, and as Teresa's former handler, only Rubel himself would have been in any position to notice the resemblance between them. It had taken some doing, but he had convinced the rest of the Organization that Clare had simply been one such orphan, used by a Yōma as a combination of hostage and cover identity until Teresa had slain it. Given that villagers were a superstitious, cowardly lot by nature – no doubt they would have shunned the girl, merely because of her association with the Yōma – Clare deciding to attach herself to her savior would therefore seem only natural.

And the rest, as they say, was history. Teresa had broken the cardinal rule of the Organization, slaying the twenty-some odd bandits who had just massacred the town Clare had been left in – at least, Rubel _thought_ it was twenty; hard to tell with all the murdered villagers muddling up the numbers – then defied the Organization itself by refusing to accept her execution as punishment for her misconduct. Numbers 2 through 5 had been sent then to dispatch her, culminating in Priscilla's Awakening and the deaths of the other top four.

For her own part, Clare heard the words being spoken, but in truth she was only barely listening. Her true attention was focused on the right hand still held up in front of her, as if studying it intently. Beneath the play of skin, Clare could faintly sense the Yōki flowing gently through it. She clenched the hand briefly, the joints quietly popping as that flow surged briefly in response to the tensed muscles. The she opened it again, and the flow returned to normal.

Her mother's Yōki, as well as her own. Some days, Clare even believed she could still tell the two apart sometimes. As if Teresa was somehow still alive, guiding her.

"No," she answered finally, her gaze lifting from the hand. "This is fine. This is _good_."

Rubel chuckled. "Yes, a very unusual one indeed," he smiled to himself, that subtle smirk of his widening ever so slightly.

Shortly after he had given her the pill to suppress her Yōki, Rubel had indeed discovered she was already a natural hybrid. He had suspected as much, certainly, but it was another thing altogether to witness proof before your very eyes – even within moments of swallowing the pill, the central heterochromia of Clare's eyes, irises golden at the center and shading to a darker green further out, faded, replacing the two-tone color scheme with a natural green throughout.

In that instant, Rubel knew he had found something truly both wonderful and terrible; a diamond in the rough, hidden, buried deeply within the offal of this society's refuse, unnoticed and unwanted. It would be his job to ensure that diamond would be polished – sharpened, even – until she could become the tool that he needed to finally put an end to this madness, once and for all.

Keeping her otherwise unnoticed by the rest until they had implanted Theresa's flesh within her had not been easy. He constantly had to make sure Clare was taking the pills, otherwise they risked the Organization finding out the truth. Rubel had also had to make sure Clare never breathed a word of her parentage, and should someone happen to notice too deeply… Well, Rubel had already done many heinous things before, in the course of his duty. What was one more?

Even so, it had not been smooth sailing, even after the implantation had taken place. Clare was never one to simply play by the rules. Rebelliousness, arguing with instructors, picking fights with her fellow warrior-aspirants… Clare was rapidly developing a reputation as a problem-case. It was not uncommon to hear her name being thrown about constantly during Organization meetings, though not in any way that Rubel might come to fear.

But then again, should he really have been surprised? Clare was not the first potential warrior to have acted this way, nor would she be the last. Teresa had acted the same way herself once, rebellious and headstrong.

Quietly chuckling to himself, Rubel stalked out of the room. Yes, Clare truly was her mother's daughter, in more ways than one.

* * *

"Alright, listen up!" yelled the instructor. And listen the ten would-be warriors did.

A year had passed since that encounter, and the time for their promotion to a numbered warrior had finally come. Not too far from the training compound were the abandoned and crumbling ruins of a village; probably destroyed during a Yōma attack, was anyone's guess. Among the ten prospective warriors, Clare stood ready, sword gripped confidently in one hand. To her immediate left was that one student she had fought before.

"This is your final test," the instructor continued. "If you pass this you'll become full warriors. The situation will be the same as real battle; it's a group battle using the surrounding ruins. The ten of you will be split into two teams of five. The winning team will be promoted to warrior status.

"The weapons you'll be using are real claymores. You'd better fight well if you don't want to die!" Most of the trainees looked surprised at the news, glancing down at their weapons; a remaining few, Clare included, did not.

Then the instructor suddenly threw a pole at them, its tip jamming itself into the earth between Clare and the other girl, dividing the ten girls evenly in half. Startled, one of the others on Clare's side of the line jumped from surprise.

"This staff marks the division of the two teams," the instructor went on. "Memorize the faces of your allies and enemies right now."

"Heh," sneered the aggressive girl at Clare from across the pole. "Looks like we'll be able to finish that business from last year."

Clare chose not to deign a response, nor even acknowledge that the other girl had spoken, merely looking straight ahead. She had better things to do than cater to that one's ego.

* * *

_What is this feeling?_ Clare could feel it, a faint tug, a presence on the far back of her mind. Behind her, she could hear her "fellow" trainees bickering, arguing over how they should go about completing the test, but Clare paid them no mind, focused instead on the sensation.

One of the other girls called out to her as she wandered away, but she barely heard it, focused on the feeling and on following it to its source. For several minutes she walked, unmindful of the ruins or where she was going. Her eyes were closed, so that she could better focus on sensing the Yōki, though every once in a while she would briefly open them, to ensure she didn't run into or trip over something.

And all throughout, that feeling continued to nag at her, subtly. It was most definitely _there_, absolutely; Clare's senses could tell her that much. But it was like chasing a silhouette in the fog – how far away it was, or how strong, or anything other than a general direction…

_This presence… it's almost like…_

So intent was she on tracking that elusive feeling, that she did not even realize as she came under attack until she had already reacted. Without conscious thought, she suddenly flinched violently back, her entire body arching low as a claymore sailed past where her head had been, not a second before.

_Blade turned sideways,_ she realized, her mind scrambling to catch up. Had that strike connected, it would have struck her with the flat of the blade, not the edge. Clare's pride briefly flared before she smothered it back down again; if her opponent was so overconfident that she were underestimating her, then that was simply to her own advantage.

"I didn't think you'd come out all by yourself!" a familiar voice crowed, and suddenly it clicked in Clare's mind. That other girl, no doubt come to resume their aborted fight from before. Now it was a sense of exasperation that Clare had to put down, rather than wounded pride – what was that one _thinking_, bringing up useless grudges at a time like this?

The other girl rushed with quick, fast strikes, eager to put an end to her "weakling" opponent. But Clare was just as fast, however, and her holding her claymore in both hands to the opponent's one meant that the strikes couldn't overpower her defense, either.

Clare's own counterattack was thwarted, too, the other girl leaping back away in a near-blur of speed, both legs crouched against a crumbling wall to leap back into the fray.

"Heh heh, you've gotten better," the girl jeering, pushing off to clash her sword against Clare's sword, pressing into the attack. "But you're still too weak! How do you possibly expect to beat me!"

Clare didn't answer in words, instead parrying the blow aside and using the granted space to grab the waist-high wall behind her and backflip away. For an added bonus, her bare foot lashed out at the time, catching underneath her opponent's jaw and snapping her head back. Angered by the cheap shot, the girl smashed her foot into the wall, kicking chunks of debris at Clare in retaliation, who hastily deflected with her sword.

It was as the girl was coming around for another attack that Clare realized: she couldn't sense any other Yōki signatures, besides this girl's and that other one, the one she had been tracking. Where were the other girls'? "Wait!" she cried out, even as she raised her sword to block another attack from the other claymore. "Something's not right!"

But clearly the other girl wasn't listening, because she scoffed. "Oh, come on! All this time training, and the best you've got is that stupid trick?"

Clare grit her teeth, angered by this girl's obstinacy. Obviously she wasn't going to be swayed by anything except action. Sparing a brief instant of attention, Clare shifted her foot to catch underneath a piece of stone wall and kicked it straight upwards, catching the other in the forehead.

"Gah! You little—!" she, only to find Clare already leaping from broken wall to broken wall, away. Unbowed, she only crouched down and leapt after her, "Get back here, you bitch!" It wasn't even a chase, really. Scarcely a few tens of meters had gone by before she caught up to Clare, who wasn't even trying to run away now. The long-haired girl was just standing there, staring straight ahead with her back to her.

The tall trainee opened her mouth to yell, but stopped as her gaze went ahead of her target to see what lay beyond. Four of their fellow trainees lay slaughtered, surrounded in pools of their own blood. Whatever the girl might have said before, died in her own throat. "Wh-wha…? That's… my team?"

Clare cursed quietly to herself. She was too late. And there was no mistaking now what it was she had felt before. Trainees or not, there were very few things that were actually capable of killing a warrior, let one several of them at once.

Which was why Clare was mildly surprised when she felt herself being jerked upward by the front of her tunic. "Your team did this!" the other girl yelled into her face. "When did they–"

But her rant was cut off, as she was suddenly impaled from the side, five spear-like objects piercing through her torso, hip, and left arm. Her eyes went wide from horror, surprise, and sudden pain.

"Yōma!" Clare cried out even as she pulled away, out of the warrior's grip. And sure enough, there the thing was, standing atop one of the ruined buildings with its limb outstretched, its five fingers hyper-extended to become the weapons impaling the other girl. Even as she watched, it began to raise its other arm as well, to do the same to her.

Clare didn't give it the chance. She immediately spun, bringing her claymore up and around to slice through the digits pinning the other girl in place. The Yōma recoiled, and Clare rushed forward, grabbing the other girl by her back plate, even as she collapsed.

* * *

"So how is our latest batch of trainees doing?" Rubel wondered aloud, strolling down from the main complex toward the testing area.

Seated on the ground so he could observe, the instructor blinked, faintly surprised to find anyone besides himself here. "Oh, Rubel. Didn't know you were here." Briefly he shook himself, settling back down to answer. "Not so good, considering. I always tell them the test is the same thing as a real battle, but still so few of them listen. Most of this batch of girls has already been killed!"

Rubel nodded absently, that subtle, ever-present smirk of his on his face. "And that test-subject girl we had this year… Clare, I think it was? How's she doing?" _As though I don't already know,_ he declined to add.

"What? You mean that girl where we used another warrior's flesh instead of a Yōma's to make her?" the teacher snorted softly. "Believe it or not, she's actually the best-off of the lot, the only one who _hasn't_ taken any damage." His lone uncovered eye focused ahead, "Near as I can tell, either she caught onto its presence right away, or else close enough after that it doesn't make a difference. Left her group to try and track it, probably the only reason she's alive. Same goes for the other girl, only she was tracking _her_. Talked about 'finishing their fight', before the test started."

"Hmm, you don't say…" Rubel muttered absently. He had been keeping a close eye on Clare for the past year, since that fight he had stepped in to abort.

In all truthfulness, the past year had been something of a disappointment to Rubel. When he had brought Clare to the Organization, he had believed that using Theresa's flesh and blood in order to change her should have had some kind of synergistic effect, making Clare even more capable as a warrior, not less. After all, was that not the whole basis of the idea behind Alicia and Beth's creation, the same flesh in two bodies synchronizing together? And as her mother, was not half of Theresa's flesh already within Clare?

But instead, rather than rising to the very top of her class, Clare was at the dead bottom, the least capable out of all of them. Her Yōki reserves were miniscule, compared to those of the other trainees, and even her strength and speed were below average. Perhaps his own theory had been wrong, after all, and all that truly mattered during the implantation process was simply the "purity" of the flesh used.

All in all, Rubel had worried that his grand "experiment", his intended trump card against the Organization, was going to turn out a dismal failure, worthless to his purposes.

Until now, that is.

Clare's prowess might be useless to his plans, but if she had actually picked out the Yōma's presence before anyone else… At the very least, her Yōki-sensing abilities were turning out to be as good as he'd hoped. Perhaps not as exceptional as Galatea, the newly-promoted 'Eye', but still excellent nonetheless.

Besides, she was still young yet, not yet fully matured as a warrior. Perhaps there were other things about her that he had overlooked? He would have to keep an even closer eye on Clare from now on, to know for sure. Perhaps once she passed this test, Rubel would request to be her handler. It had been a number of years since he had been in the field, after all.

Anyway, that was for later. Focus on the now, as his own instructor had taught him, so many years ago.

Besides, he still had plenty of other cards to play, should this hand turn out to be a bust after all. Miria was turning out even better that he had hoped –not only had the girl accepted the information he had passed to her, about the truth behind the Organization and the world beyond this continent, but she had even begun to formulate her own plans to bring down the Organization. Even better, if not for the fact the he had been the one to give her that information, Rubel would not have even suspected the current Number 6 had turned traitor against the Organization itself.

"Interesting…" Rubel murmured quietly to himself, his smirk widening unnoticeably. The instructor gave him an odd look, but ultimately said nothing, turning back toward the ruin.

* * *

"Let go of me!" yelled the irate girl as she was dragged ignobly across the ground. "I'd rather die than be saved by you!"

Clare let go, but she did so by hurling her forward against a wall. The warrior winced, her wounds healing but still pained, but before she could do anything more, Clare pressed her foot hard enough against her chest to keep her pinned down.

"Don't be in such a hurry to die," Clare said, coldly angry. "What good do you think your pride will do you, after you're dead? No matter how bad or shameful your situation, what is most important is that you _stay alive_! Stay alive, and keep fighting until the end."

It was her own alarm at the long-haired girl's tone that snapped her out of her foul mood, more than anything else. Until now, Clare had always acted aloof, as if everything and everyone else was beneath her – that was exactly what she had always hated about the other girl, why she kept putting her into her place. For Clare to speak so seriously, so angrily…

A sobering silence fell over the two of them, only the taller girl's pained breathing standing out in the quiet; it wasn't until a loud creak sounded, that that silence was broken. Clare's eyes widened for a brief instant, followed by her glaring and gritting her teeth in a held-back growl. The long-haired blonde rushed at a nearby wall, ramming her right shoulder against it to relocate her limp arm. The short-haired one scoffed – why did it have to be the weakling that she had to work with, here?

"So what now?" she wondered. "I'm still too wounded; you're too weak—"

One of the walls crushing inward cut her off, the Yōma plowing through the cloud of dust and debris. Clare spun, raising her sword into a defensive stance. She clenched her teeth, carefully watching the monster's movements. This close of proximity, Clare could sense the beast's Yōki in much greater detail, but that in itself was a double-edged sword – it became much harder to read the Yōki flow, to anticipate its moves, and when it actually did move, she would have even less time to be able to react.

The beast itself laughed, raising its unwounded hand to point towards Clare. "I'm going to enjoy killing you," it said, and then the fingers shot forward.

Clare twisted aside, the spear-like digits missing, braced herself against the floor, and charged. She did not make it, though, as even maimed, the damaged hand still swatted her aside; backhanded, Clare tripped against the ruined carcass of the windowsill, and tipped over backwards, falling out into the street. The Yōma followed, a pair of wings sprouting from its back as it leaped onto and through the sill itself.

The short-haired warrior blinked, and then grunted, annoyed that she had been left behind. "Well, great. _Now_ what do I do?"

* * *

The instructor blinked, his uncovered eye straining slightly to follow the scene. "Huh," he wondered aloud. "This Yōma seems a lot more aggressive than the ones we usually get."

"You don't say…" Rubel mused, making sure to keep his satisfied smile from showing. He certainly wasn't going to admit that he himself had substituted the original Yōma to be used for this test, for an older, more experienced, more aggressive one.

After all, he needed to make sure his intended trump card had been worth the time and effort he had invested in her!

* * *

A crumbled wall of bricks was all that separated them. Clare kept her labored breathing calm, although that was only to ensure she didn't give herself away. Blood leaked from a scalp wound into her eye; she thought it may have been from when she had skidded on the ground after that fall, but she wasn't sure. Her claymore was out of reach – her grip had slackened unintentionally during the brief freefall, costing her her sword. It lay on the dusty road nearby, several feet beyond her reach. No way for her to reach for it without being spotted immediately.

If not for that she constantly kept her Yōki suppressed anyway, as Mommy had taught her always to do, it would have probably been even more difficult to hide. But even that advantage would not last forever, she knew – the Yōma had other senses to be able to hunt her with.

"Come on out, little bitch!" the monster singsonged, its voice guttural and unpleasant as it hoped to lure her out of hiding. Its mangled hand, severed fingers already slowly beginning to regenerate, crashed into a wall, crushing the crumbled stone and mortar. Still several feet away, Clare judged the sound.

"You're so weak you actually have to resort to these cowardly tactics," it mocked. "I thought we were supposed to _fear_ your kind, half-breed!"

Another wall came down. It was stalking around the area, hunting for her. Soon enough it would come close enough to smell her, and the blood running down her face. Already, Clare was running through fast scenarios in her mind, ways to be able to kill this Yōma without being killed herself.

Clare's heart skipped a beat as the winged Yōma perched atop her hiding place, brick crumbling from its perch to land atop her head; Clare went very still, eyes straining upward to see without actually turning her head. The beast hadn't actually noticed her yet.

Her sword… Slowly, Clare began to inch her way towards it.

Until a twinge in the back of her mind made her flinch violently out of her hiding place, five fleshy javelins stabbing into the hard-packed dirt where she had just laid. Out in the open, Clare dispensed with all finesse or planning and just lunged forward, reaching for her sword.

She came up just inches short, as her head was yanked violently back by her long hair; Clare automatically knew without thinking that the Yōma had grabbed hold of it. Her fingertips scraped the hilt of her sword, unable to reach any further or do any more than touch the weapon.

A foot stomped down on her shoulder, slamming her down into the ground.

"Out of all these other bitches, you're the only one who actually managed to give me trouble," the Yōma half snarled, half sneered, pulling hard on the girl's hair so that she whimpered out in pain. "This close to so many of you filthy Claymores, I've actually had to waste time, hunting you down. Guess that means I'll should be quick about it… But why bother?" it sneered, switching off hands so that it was the damaged one holding her by the hair. "After all, it's not like we should really _fear_ you half-breeds!"

Clare scrabbled, clawing at the ground for her sword. She could feel the giant blade's hilt with her fingers, just two inches… just another _inch_ until she could close those fingers around it! Clare desperately pushed down the panic she could feel happening, as she those fingers above her reshaped, sharpening, the Yōma obviously delighting in her desperation as she squirmed.

No! She had came too far for this! All she had worked for, everything to become what the monsters themselves were afraid of… Only now a Yōma was about to kill her?

_No. No! I won't let it end like this!_

Desperate, Clare let completely go of the reins she had always carefully held on her Yōki, diving headfirst into that power that was her birthright. Immediately, she could feel the onrush of pain and ecstasy and the strength that came with it. Her eyes changed immediately, silver washing out to gold as her pupils somehow seeming to invert themselves, stretching to become a vertical slit. Pain vanished immediately, and the Yōma's foot holding her down may as well be a feather pillow now.

Now it was the Yōma's turn to panic. It knew that feeling! Without hesitation it fired its fingers downward, but suddenly the little bitch was no longer there! In its other hand, a handful of severed blonde hair, limp.

Sword firmly in hand, Clare seemed to almost teleport into place behind the Yōma, so fast did she move. The Yōma tried to turn, to counterattack, but Clare's attack was already underway, sword hurling horizontally around. The blade caught above the beast's upper lip, dense metal carving through bone and foul brown flesh with barely any resistance.

In that final split-second, the Yōma finally understood the answer to its question, why their kind should fear Claymores above all else. Then it all went black.

* * *

"Well!" Rubel smiled widely. "So she managed to survive. That deserves some praise, doesn't you think?"

"I suppose so," the instructor hummed, though with more curiosity than enthusiasm. That last part had been… odd… to watch.

"The life of a warrior… I think she'll take to it quite well." _After all_, _as they say, _Rubel thought, _like mother, like daughter._ He even supposed he could see a bit of Theresa in the way Clare carried herself, though he could just be imagining that.

Below, the two of them could see Clare helping to carry the injured other girl out of the ruins, the taller girl leaning on Clare's shoulder for support. There was a small bit of blood caked to the side of Clare's face, but given Claymores' regenerative capabilities in general, it wasn't so odd to find no wound on her. Her shorter hair, on the other hand, did not go unnoticed.

Still, Rubel was pleased. Immensely so, at that. Clare had proved she still had use, but how far that use stretched, Rubel wasn't completely sure. Mentally, he shrugged; time would tell, he supposed. If there was anywhere Clare would be able to prove herself, that would be out on the field.

"You felt that too, didn't you?" the other instructor spoke up, curious, garnering the handler's attention. "When that girl used her Yōki. It felt… different… than a usual warrior's. Not as chaotic."

Damn. He'd noticed. "Yes, actually, I did," Rubel kept his features neutral and seemingly curious, even as he fingered the concealed knife hidden in his clothing.

He would have to make this look convincing. After all, Yōma _were_ considered highly unpredictable to begin with…

_**Author's Note:**_ Well, Chapter One was pretty quick to come out. Chapter Three also happens to be in the works currently. And for those of you who are familiar with my chapters and how long I can be, these chapters will get longer. I have to get into the swing of writing a Claymore story.

If you guys read one of the four extra chapters, you should be familiar with what you read and what the differences are. With Rubel taking such a high interest in Clare I imagine him keeping an eye on her, and testing Clare in his own unique way.

I've hinted towards several things in this chapter, but you'll have to wait and see as to what they mean.

Originally, this was slated to be an extra chapter. However, due to my lack of updates and this being the only story of mine with only one chapter, I decided to post it as the next chapter. It's more linear than I wanted, but it'll do until the next chapter is finished.


	3. For the Sake of Existence

_**For the Sake of Existence**_

There was blood everywhere. Nothing was spared of the crimson liquid; it was splashed onto trees, it pooled on the ground, it even stained the nearby pond red. A number of bodies of various travelers were strewn about, missing various limbs or even a head.

In the middle of the carnage was a foul creature with violet skin that stood taller than any human. It happily feasted on the innards of a recently killed person, savoring the flavor as it dug its maw filled with sharp teeth into the corpse.

Its sensitive, pointed ears picked up the slightest sound of another person walking into the area. It looked up with its reptilian eyes, spying the silhouette of an individual entering the clearing from across the pond. Angered by the disturbance the beast roared as it reared up and rushed through the bloodied water towards the intruder, stirring the crimson-stained pond into a torrent and further mixing the liquids. Coming upon its target, it readied its claw to kill the intruder.

For a brief second, the individual's eyes shifted, becoming a glowing reptilian yellow that matched its adversaries. Suddenly, as the person's power increased, the eye shaded to orange. The next second, the individual disappeared in a blur of speed, only to reappear behind the monster, leaving a carved up carcass in her wake.

* * *

The job she was taking wasn't any different from the others. Like every other town Clare visited in her area, it was being attacked by a single Yoma according to what Rubel told her. Nothing unusual.

Looking around the crowd that gathered to see her, she immediately began to work. With each face her eyes identified, she scanned for any possible signatures hidden by a disguise. So far, nothing showed up. It was likely she spooked the Yoma either into hiding or leaving. At least it knew its demise was inevitable.

As she worked, a small part of Clare buried deep in her being felt alienated. Human, Yoma, Warrior… no matter the race, Clare always felt estranged, like an outsider always cursed to look on the inside. From the beginning of her life, she straddled the fine line of human and monster, unsure of what she was or what she could become. The comfort of having once been human wasn't hers to claim—not like her other 'sisters'—but she never exhibited Yoma traits beyond what other regular hybrids displayed.

Clare quickly squashed the bubbling feelings of alienation, her thoughts quickly drifting back to her current job. She could ponder her own existence later; right now, any distraction would only serve as a detriment.

Finding nothing, Clare moved on, all the while systematically scanning each face and checking for Yoki. As Clare walked on, the novelty of her existence quickly dissipated with the crowds, giving her more room to work.

Halfway down the road, the scent of a Yoma assaulted Clare's nostrils. On instinct, her eyes flashed gold as she suddenly spun, pulling out her claymore. The tip of her sword stopped an inch short of the neck of a young man.

"Hi!" he greeted cheerfully, despite the weapon pointed at his throat.

She eyed him for several seconds, determining whether this person was a threat. Although he smelled of Yoma, the young man didn't have a Yoki signature. Likelihood was that he somehow had contact with the Yoma. But how was still beyond Clare.

Satisfied with the knowledge that the perpetrator that violated her space was nothing more than an overly curious young man, she sheathed her sword and turned back around. The young man, unperturbed despite the close assault, continued to follow. Clare simply ignored his presence.

"So…" he began, "you're a Claymore?"

Though she wasn't willing to show it, Clare was wondering why this boy was following her. Reckless stupidity, she guessed. He certainly struck Clare as stupid; he seemed overly trusting.

Nonetheless, she supplied an answer. "That is what regular people refer to us as." _Beyond other things_, Clare added with the barest hint of bitterness.

The hybrid felt caught off guard with her own feelings, but like before she squashed them for the sake of her mission.

"So, then what are you guys called then?" the young man pressed on, hoping to make conversation.

"Usually, we simply refer to ourselves as warriors," she curtly answered.

Her lips tugged downward, but it was barely noticeable. _Why_ exactly was she talking to this boy?

Coming to the end of the road, Clare looked over her back at the town. It was small compared to a few others she'd visited. With a quick run over the rooftops, it wouldn't take long before she pinpointed the Yoma and exterminated it. Yeah, just another mission…

…Or at least it was until she remembered the boy following her every step.

Clare wasn't insulted; as a matter of fact, the human contact was… refreshing, but Clare wasn't used to such attention. She simply didn't know how to deal with it.

Satisfied with her scan of the area, Clare dug her sword into the ground and sat against it. Only after closing her eyes did she allow herself to relax. It wasn't that she was tired, but to relax for a mere minute or two would be nice before she killed the Yoma. Hopefully, the boy would leave her alone for a minute.

Speaking of which…

Opening her eye, she found him not present. With a shrug, she returned to her thoughts. He must've gotten bored with her, or something.

The thought caused a sting to enter her being. Her human half naturally wanted—

Her thought's were interrupted as the sound of a board being stabbed in the ground reached her ears. Opening her eyes, Clare blinked as she found the boy replicating her actions, leaning against the board with his arm crossed with a grin plastered to his face.

Well… this was different.

"My name's Raki, by the way," he said. "What's your name?"

Clare leaned back on her sword with closed eyes. "It doesn't matter. It's a name that would be soon forgotten."

Raki leaned back on the wooden plank, a grimace marring his face. He was trying to make conversation with this lady, but it was a difficult process. She just wouldn't open up.

He stood, garnering her attention. "I need to get going. It was nice talking to you."

As much as he wanted to stay and learn more about the Claymore, he didn't want Zaki to worry. With a Yoma running around town with a false identity, everyone was paranoid.

* * *

Upon opening the door, Raki's nostrils were assaulted with a mixture of blood and a foul stench that he couldn't identify.

"Uncle, Zaki!" Raki called out in worry.

When no one answered, he ran to the source of the smell. His sight was greeted to a horrific scene. A beast with purple, warty skin was hunched over his dead uncle, covered in blood.

The beast, hearing Raki, turned to greet him. To the boy's horror, the Yoma's face held the distorted visage of Zaki's face, the remnants of its disguise.

"With that Claymore in town," spoke the beast, "I'll need to leave before she finds me. I thought it suitable to eat before I left."

"No…" Raki muttered, horrified.

"Kukuku. Your brother's innards were delicious," it laughed. "In order to better disguise myself, I ate his brain as well." It laughed again. "It was so difficult not to eat you. I could imagine digging my teeth into your innards, savoring the sweet flavor. But now my disguise is useless with that bitch nearby, so it doesn't matter. I'll devour you and then leave here!"

It reached out a hand to grasp its prey. But right before their eyes, the Yoma's arm was severed. With widened eyes, the beast spun around to find the Claymore, holding her sword with one hand and her eyes glowing gold.

"How did you…?" the Yoma asked, eyes widened.

"The boy smelled of Yoma," she curtly answered.

"YOU BITCH!" the beast roared as it reared up a fist.

Clare's golden eyes flashed amber as she drew upon more Yoki, disappearing in a blur as the attack crashed into the ground, reappearing above the monster with her sword pulled back. As the Yoma turned, Clare deftly cut the beast in half with a crash, scattering violet blood.

'_Amazing,_' Raki thought with awe.

* * *

Clare relaxed under a waterfall, cleaning the violet blood that splattered from her last kill. She was far from vain, but Yoma blood had such a nasty smell to it. It almost became a habit to take a bath after every job to eliminate whatever smell or leftovers might've landed on her.

"Although I agree that Yoma blood does stink, I hope you realize that it's a fundamental part of you," Rubel's voice said with a hint of amusement. "Even from the day that you were born."

Clare didn't say anything, choosing to continue to keep her eyes closed, enjoy the cool water, and ignore her handler's presence.

It was true. Her scent was a strange hybrid, an effect of the natural Yoma-human blood that ran through her veins. Clare didn't hate it per say, but it made her feel different among her peers; the human and Yoma scents of her 'sisters' always conflicted, while Clare's own seamlessly blended. Still, it was more pleasant than the stench of Yoma blood.

"By the way, once you're done, I have another job for you," Rubel told her. "It should be pretty quick like the last."

He glanced at the stigma that plagued all of the organization's warriors. Or at least, it was the spot that the stigma usually appeared. Not a scar marred Clare's body, not even from the horrendous procedure that inserted Theresa's flesh into hers.

Rubel remembered the disfigurement quite vividly; it was no different from any other girl that underwent the surgery. But, just barely two weeks after the procedure, the stigma on Clare disappeared. He surmised different reasons for this; one was that Clare already had the regenerative qualities that were associated with all warriors, and because she was already a hybrid her flesh must've easily absorbed Theresa's own. To that point, it had been pain to keep the higher-ups from discovering the anomaly.

He inwardly chuckled as he left the hybrid to her musings. Clare was indeed different. Hopefully, it would be those characteristics that made her different that'd make her a useful trump card.

Only after Rubel left did Clare open her eyes, her irises briefly flashing gold. With an unreadable expression, she looked up into the skies, watching as a flock of birds flew from a tree.

"What am I?" she muttered to herself.

It was a question she often asked when nobody was looking. And one she never truly got an answer for. She never fit into any category, not as a human, Yoma, or warrior; she was too different. Even her Yoki had a different quality to it.

Often, she pondered how much of what she had in her body. The possibilities varied from one-third, exactly half, or even three-fourths of Yoma blood running through her veins. In all likelihood, though, she was two-thirds human, speaking that humans were sometimes more of a threat than some of the foulest Yoma. Even Theresa of the Faint Smile, the greatest warrior ever produced by the organization, had to abide by the rules (at one point at least), even if it meant harm was done to her.

Even with that likelihood, there was a possibility that Clare was wrong. Slim as it may be, at least.

Still, the idea that she was two-thirds human held a great deal of merit. If she'd been born bearing any quality of a Yoma, Theresa would've killed her on the spot—as morbid a thought it is, it was true no matter how she looked at it.

From a young age, she was ostracized. Bearing the looks of a 'silver-eyed witch' as a child made many fear her. Even the Yoma were weary of her when she was a child, thinking her more dangerous than even the warriors that hunted them.

Feeling she spent enough time pondering things from under the spring, she stood and readied for her next job.

* * *

Her eyes scanned left and right, taking in every detail of the environment that'd soon be stained with the blood of Yoma. A gentle breeze drifted through the town, dust kicking up and following its every step.

Windows closed tightly, doors barred and locked, not a single soul wandering the streets…

_Everyone's locked themselves indoors,_ Clare noted. _With the number of victims in such a short amount of time, I'm not surprised_.

Her musings were prematurely cut as a single person walked out in front of her, stopping a small distance away. The moment the Yoma's signature assaulted her sixth sense, Clare's pupils contracted until they were slitted.

It was quiet until the Yoma broke the silence. "Well, well, I never dreamt a warrior would come alone. I was hoping for… more."

Clare wasn't perturbed in the slightest. Rather, her attention was on four other signatures hiding within the homes. "You can tell the others to make themselves known."

The Yoma ahead of her—the de facto leader of the flesh-eaters in the town—flashed surprise with its human-like features, but quickly steeled itself with a sneer. "A bit better than I anticipated, but no matter. We'll end your miserable existence for thinking you can stop us."

With a wave of a hand, three other beasts entered the street and moved to surround Clare, almost blurring her sixth sense with their unimpeded signatures.

_Four in total… _the hybrid analyzed, already formulating plans of attack. _This can turn bad if I make a wrong move. Wait… there's a fifth on the rooftops. No doubt that one will try surprise me._

She was no 'Eye', but Clare knew her sensing abilities were above the regular cut, a product of her seamless hybridization. Still, it paled compared to Theresa's; Clare hadn't fully grasped predicting an opponent's movements through Yoki alone.

Clare gripped her claymore's handle, eliciting a smirk from the leading Yoma. "How brave, taking on all five of us."

Taking its cue, the seemingly hidden Yoma leapt at her. With a mental cry of '_Now!_' Clare rolled out of the attack. The assaulter hissed with aggravation at the missed attack, all the while Clare noted the wings on its back. An older Yoma… This was shaping to be a difficult fight.

"Die half-breed!" another Yoma roared as the others charged.

_Half-breed_! The word echoed through Clare's mind, but she quashed all thoughts as she reflexively drew her sword and spun to dodge several haphazard clawed swings.

Her sense so blurred by the surrounding figures, Clare never noticed the winged Yoma attacking from behind, driving both its feet into her back and sending the warrior skidding across the dirt.

"We've got her!" one Yoma roared, eliciting all the monsters to charge forward, all excited at the prospect of defeating their most hated enemy.

As she recovered from the attack, Clare's beautiful visage morphed into something beastlier. Blood rushed through her veins as did pain and ecstasy, expanding them and increasing her already impressive strength; her golden irises shifted into a hazel orange from the growing intensity of Yoki.

The sudden shift in appearance was enough to stall the attackers. Seeing the loss of momentum Clare struck, a silver blur among the ogres. Assaulting the first Yoma, Clare severed an attacking arm, following a strike to the neck.

_One_, she mentally counted, turning to another. A jump to the side, missing extended fingers. Silver-flash straight through the eyes. _Two_. Duck. Upswing, splitting the Yoma into two halves. _Three_.

It had almost been child's play with so much Yoki coursing through her body.

Yoma five couldn't take it. Flapping its wings, it readied for an ascent to safety. Just as before it could hit the air, a silver flash severed its head, followed by a blur of movement revealing Clare catching her sword as it flew by her head.

The last Yoma, the leader, attempted an escape. With a blur, she reappeared in the path of the Yoma, digging her sword tip into its throat and drawing violet drops of blood. Powering down, her now golden eyes stared into the Yoma's intently.

One quick swing would end everything here…

"_Die half-breed!" another Yoma roared as the others charged._

"_Get away from that little monster!" a mother cried as she herded her children away from a blond child._

"_She looks just like those silver-eyed witches," an old man noted with disgust, looking down at a child that sat quietly on the side of a street staring down at the dust at her feet, away from spite filled eyes._

Half-breed… words she didn't know whether to hate or embrace.

Alienation. Disenchantment from the world around her. An outsider looking into the inside. Loneliness… That was her world. Outside, she wore a mask of indifference, but that wasn't the truth. Clare felt emotion more than she liked to admit, and often buried them for fear of what thoughts they'd pull her to. Though, those feelings she did bury always worked their way out of the grave. Sometimes it gave way for feelings of sadness. Other times, it led to spite for everyone and everything.

She felt an emotion bubble from within as she stared intently at the cornered Yoma, but it wasn't anything she could identify.

"Half-breed, that's what you called me."

Satisfaction bubbled on the edges of her being as the Yoma slowly backed away from the sword tip at its throat.

"That's all you'll ever be," it hissed at her.

Clare almost felt amused. Such words held more truth than even the monster would ever know. "True. I wasn't born a human to begin with."

"What—" It never finished as its head separated from the body.

* * *

"How strange," Rubel's voice stopped Clare, just barely outside of the town. "You hesitated for a minute."

She didn't turn towards her handler.

"Tell me, what was it?" he asked with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "Hatred? Pity? Amusement?"

Clare's eyes glazed over as she pondered what she felt then. It could've been anything. Even a mixture of everything.

"… The job is done. Go collect the money for five Yoma." Her voice betrayed nothing, but Rubel knew better.

"Oh, so you fought five," the agent sounded approving. "Not bad. How very… noble of you." His words stopped Clare as she moved to pass by. "Risking you life for these ungrateful villagers—these _humans_—against a pack of five Yoma… Was it because you remembered your old self, how lonely and defenseless you'd been until your mother made it go away?"

Clare pointedly looked at him from the corner of her eye, her eyes flashing gold for the briefest of moments.

"As I said," she countered, as she sauntered away, "I'd rather finish the jobs quickly. Nothing more."

A laughing smirk pulled at Rubel's mouth. Weak or strong… it was an answer Rubel couldn't decide yet.

At the very least, Clare was amusing.

"And here I was thinking of sending you to Rabona…" Rubel quietly muttered to himself, his ever-present smile a hair wider than normal. "I believe a change of plans is in order."

**_Author's Note:_** Two things. First I would like to apologize for not getting this chapter done sooner; for some reason it was difficult to write. Next thing: I received a couple of reviews noting how similar this is to the manga/anime at this point. Let me assure you, starting next chapter everything _completely_ changes, as hinted by Rubel.

I needed these first chapters to build the foundation of Clare's persona here. As you can tell, there are subtle differences in her psyche compared to her canon counterpart; she's far more emotionally and mentally isolated, and she struggles with misanthropic views. She feels like an outsider all the time. With Raki's added presence in the coming chapters, this is going to lead to some very interesting conversations and character development.

Speaking of Rubel, he's a very conniving individual in the manga, but here… Oh he's so much worse. As the past couple chapters have expressed, he's trying to develop Clare into a weapon to be used against the Organization. And to do that, he's far more hands-on. Next chapter will seriously emphasize that notion.


End file.
